


we will, together

by moonenby



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fem!Teenlock, Teenlock, except it's a gender bender au, fem!johnlock, female!Sherlock, female!john watson - Freeform, the au no one asked for except from me yay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25149511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonenby/pseuds/moonenby
Summary: ''I'm...afraid of falling in love. I'm afraid of the thought of losing control for somebody. And I'm afraid of hurting the one I love. But I am in love with you, Watson. So love me careful. Love me gentle. Love me with will all you are.'' She hesitated, taking a pause. ''Just love me.'' I could feel Sherlock's breath on my skin, hot and sweet. It tasted like strawberries and bubblegum and...hope.****When fifteen year old Joan Watson moved to Belgravia Boarding School, she thought the only thing she had to handle was her GCSE's and being the new kid. But when she meets her new roommate, Sherlock Holmes, things get complicated. She's arrogant and cold yet intelligent and... bloody brilliant.However, Joan needs to put all of that aside as linked murders begin to happen within the school. Together, they need to find the mastermind before someone else loses another life. And the serial killer might just be a classmate... (Fem!Teenlock aka the au no one asked for except from me)
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally published this work on Wattpad, my account being: your-neighbourhood-queer (@VeronicaSchyler)!
> 
> Enjoy the story <3

It was a cold day.

The wind howled through the trees and played among the empty park. Playing among the swings, playing on the roundabout; it was a picture of loneliness. 

A girl of seven years trudged through the park alone. She was quite small, smaller than others her age. Her sandy blonde hair that was once tied back had come loose and framed her face daintily. She rubbed her rosy nose and stared across the park, with large, stormy blue eyes. There was a pain within her eyes, a pain you would find typically in an adult. It was the type of pain you would discover when ageing, when discovering life isn't in the rose tint you grew up to believe in. She was a good girl. It was a shame she had befriended the pain so young.

As she walked to the swings, the icy wind danced through her hair. The wind had seen the girl many times before. It welcomed her back. She was the last piece of the puzzle: the park. Though the park itself was the picture of loneliness, together, they were the epitome of solitude.

Once she had reached to the other side, she hauled herself up on the swings, her tiny feet dangling. She watched them hover above the gravel. She looked up and took in her surroundings; it was the first time she noticed she was alone. A tear fell down her cheek. Truth had finally caught her.

However it wasn't the first time she had felt alone and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

The girl shut her eyes and imagined herself back at home. A happy family, strong with love, would welcome her. They would be laughing. They would be smiling. They would be together. 

But at home, there was a broken family, strong with hatred, and her father would welcome her with abuse. They would be crying. They would be shouting. They could only dream of a happy life.

No one cared where she was.

The girl opened her eyes to the world when a jolt from behind had startled her from behind. She gasped silently. For a moment, she felt scared. But then, she realised she was gently swinging back and forth.

Who had pushed her?

A girl who appeared to be around her age sat next to her on the swings. Her long ebony hair fell down her back in soft ringlets which she began to tied up in two ponytails. She picked up the book beside her and smiled at the smaller child.

''It was me. I'm sorry if I startled you,'' softly spoked the ebony-haired girl. Her nose and cheeks were red too from the cold. ''I noticed you were lonely and no one was there to swing you.''

The sandy-haired girl smiled back. ''Thanks.'' She had to show she meant it. Her mother said to her once there's no point in saying something if you don't prove you mean it. She slid off her swing and picked up a flower behind them. She ran back to the other girl who was sitting there, waiting.

The blonde sat back on the swing and shuffled around in the seat to face the other girl. ''Here,'' she said, ''To show my thanks.'' 

The ebony-haired girl looked at her in awe, as the blonde girl tried to place the flower in her hair. It was a daisy. ''I know a lot about flowers,'' spoke the taller girl again. Her voice remained soft and mellow. The smaller girl looked up. ''Daisies mean attachment,'' she smiled, ''I know you feel lonely.'' The smile then faltered.

''How did you kn-''

''There's a difference in being lonely and feeling lonely. You're both. The look in your eyes told me everything.''

They sat in silence as the sandy-haired girl stared in amazement of her intellect. 

The ebony-haired girl continued, ''I know what loneliness feels like too.''

''Well I hope I don't become too attached to you.'' But it was only a whisper. The other girl couldn't hear it. The smaller girl sighed and attended to the flower again. She was finally able to tuck the daisy behind her ear without it falling.

''There,'' exclaimed the smaller girl, ''You look even prettier.''

A smile and a blush crept up on her face.''Thank you very much.''

''No thank you. I'm not alone anymore because of you.''

The two smiled at each other . Neither of them moved. They just wanted to stay frozen in time. Then neither of them had to face what was waiting ahead.

The blonde-haired girl opened her mouth. ''I'm J-'' But she was interrupted. A girl, older than the two by maybe a year or so, came running. She grabbed the taller girl's hand as they began to walked away.

''I've been looking for you everywhere. Mummy is worried but I'm annoyed,'' the smaller girl heard the new girl say. 

The ebony-haired girl looked back. The blonde one waved. She wanted to say thank you once more but they were too far away.

''I'm Joan,'' the shorter girl wanted to say. Joan wanted the other girl to remember her. And even if she didn't, she would.

Because she made her feel like someone cared.

The wind whistled and howled. 

Joan was alone again.


	2. 1

Joan

''Wake up Joan, we'll be late and you know how much I like to make a good impression.''

I wearily opened my eyes as mum frantically left the room. Though I had to be in a rush, my body decided 'screw it' so I moved like a slug. I stared out of the window and sighed. I had the park dream again. It's stupid. It's naïve. It happened when I was seven. But it refused to stop plaguing me. 

''Joan hurry! Be down in fifteen minutes.''

''Alright, alright.''

I clearly didn't have the to dwell on my life.

\-----

My mum, my brother and I sat in the car as we drove to my new school. None of us spoke but honestly, I'm glad we didn't. I never wanted to attend a fancy, high end boarding school, full of pretentious pricks anyways. I never wanted to leave my brother and mum alone with the man I call dad. And I never want to say goodbye. 

My shoulders were slumped as I leaned against the door. We passed trees, people, London traffic. Everything was gone within a second. What would happen if people slipped away like that? Would they be remembered or would they be a forgotten memory?

I reluctantly picked myself up and sat up straight as mum began to drive through a pair of grand, brass gates and onto a cobblestoned road.

There it was. Belgravia fucking Boarding School. The building was straight out of Victorian London, and was a manor belonging to some Lord back in the days. The place would be creeping with ghost stories which are meant to scare the tiny Year Sevens, but would scare me instead. Of course, I'm weak, what do you expect?

I gulped back my nerves, as students came into view, and clenched my skirt in my fist.

''Holy shit, Joan. You better not become a snob,'' my brother Harry whispered, stunned at the view.

I punched him gently on the arm. ''Hey shut up,'' I smiled rolling my eyes. I was going to miss this. I kept the smile on my face despite not feeling like it. There was heavy feeling in my heart and it showed no signs of giving up.

The car suddenly came to a holt, gesturing for me to step out. My hand trembled slightly as I opened the door. My mum helped heave my luggage from the back and wrapped me in a tight hug. I buried my head in her shoulder before we broke apart.

''Hey, I'm going to be late for my shift. I need to get going.'' 

I smiled at her as she handed my textbooks before kissing my cheek.

''Take care kiddo,'' and with that she sat back inside. 

I walked over to my brother who was still sitting in the car. I knocked on the window for him to open it.

''Any last words loser?''

''Try not to lose your virginity,'' Harry snorted.

''Well, good luck on your non-existent love life, dickhead.''

''Hey, I'm on the way to getting a boyfriend! I'll get there. Eventually.''

I rolled my eyes at his hesitation. Honestly, this fourteen year old's relationships are typically as stable as a crumbling pillar attempting miserably to support a whole infrastructure. 

''Sure, sure. You're definitely still not pining over Clark.''

''Hey shut up.'' But then our defensive stances lowered and we laughed instead.

I smoothened out my skirt and sighed. ''But really thanks for taking time to drop me off.''

''It's fine. Now take care, our bloody asses have somewhere to be.'' 

I rolled my eyes one more time as I watched them drive off before walking away. I waved till the last second, like a child. Well after all I am still a child. A naïve one, who's got a lot to learn.

I walked over to two girls standing behind a table. I imagined everyone's casual attire to be I don't know, designer clothes and handmade shoes since I'm living in Central London, but as far as I was concerned, their outfits were straight of New Look. Or Primark, if we're really pushing it.

The two were talking to each other. Their hands were 'discreetly' intertwined and they were leaning towards each other.

I cleared my throat awkwardly but their heads didn't turn.

''Hi?'' Nothing.

''Um hi?'' At this point, I was flapping my free arm around like a bloody idiot.

''Hi!'' I half shouted. Blood flooded to my cheeks. Barely a minute in the school, and I'm already looking stupid. How wonderful.

They both stood up straight and untangled their hands. The blonde one was blushing, while the other girl was staring at her coyly.

''Sorry, I'm Greta Lestrade, Head Girl. This is Mya Croft Holmes, Deputy Head Girl. Both of us are Year Thirteens and we will be helping you today,'' the blonde girl stated.

''If we could ask for your name, we can direct you to your dorm.'' It was Mya Croft's turn to speak and unlike I saw her a minutes ago, she spoke in a professional, cold tone.

I looked at the two for moment. Both of them were wearing flannels. Yep, they were definitely not straight.

''Oh, yes, I'm Joan Watson.''

''Year group?'' Greta asked while both of them scanned a clipboard.

''Year Eleven.''

''Ah, found you,'' Mya exclaimed, pointing at the file, ''Welcome to Belgravia Boarding School, Miss Watson. We hope you will enjoy your education here. I'll show you where you'll be staying.''

Mya Croft began walking briskly so I proceeded to follow. She had large strides, which made it difficult for my small limbs. The autumn leaves were already falling and painted the floor with an eruption of colour.

As we walked, she looked at me, as if she was analysing, then smiled. I uncomfortably smiled back.

''You will be living in Baker Street, door number 221B. We have teachers patrolling each student accommodation every so often but don't worry, the sector you'll be living in has Mr Hudson on patrol. He has a very soft heart and can be a bit too caring, if I'm being honest. Likes to make cuppas for students he's fond of. Sir becomes like a father to most.''

I smiled at the thought of having a father figure. 

''Do you know who I'll be sharing a dorm with?''

Mya Croft laughed to herself. ''Oh right, you're roommate is Sherlock Holmes, my younger sister. She has... you can say, sociopathic traits so you may find being her roommate a bit difficult. At first at least. However if you do need help, call me.'' She handed me a piece of paper with her number.

''How great,'' I muttered to myself. There were already many students on the grounds and I felt myself shrink back. I have a sociopath as a roommate, I have to endure being the new kid and I need to pass my GCSE's. Soooo fun.

''Here's the student block. You're accommodation is on the left. The common room is straight ahead. Nearby is the music room. Yes we have a music room before you ask. Here's your key. I have to leave now however if you have any problems, just phone.'' And like that, I was alone. 

I wondered what Mya Croft was going to do later. Probably snogging Greta. Probably doing Greta. Seemed plausible.

Ahead of me were two rows of small cottages, and two huts at the top. On the outskirts of the area was a forest. If I didn't know this was a student accommodation, I would have assumed it was a tiny village. The autumn leaves had fallen everywhere and were playfully dancing amongst the wind. I breathed in the autumn air and smiled. 

I finally found my dorm at the very end and gingerly opened the door to see a very pretty girl working busily at the table. She wore a purple shirt which fitted her figure very well and they were paired overalls, cuffed at the bottom.

''Hi there.''


	3. 2

Joan

There was no response.

''Hi, hello?'' No response again.

The girl continued what with she was doing. As I walked in, I tried to stand on my toes so I could see over her shoulder. My eyebrows furrowed in confused. Why the hell was she dissecting a bloody mouse?

I shrugged my shoulders and reluctantly dismissed what I saw as I placed my books on my desk. I began unpacking, putting my family photo down first. '' 'Sorry for being rude. Hello!' 'Hello to you too' '' I muttered to myself, faking a conversation between me and Sherlock.

''You don't need to have a conversation with yourself you know. I'm human though others say otherwise,'' a voice spoke. It was low and gentle; very pleasant to listen to.

Wait, oh shit. No time for losing myself in the pleasantness of the voice. My roommate heard me being weird.

''Now, let's not waste too much time on formalities.'' She looked up from her dead mouse and removed her gloves. I looked at her carefully. Sherlock stared at me with large eyes. They were a kaleidoscope of greens and blues, hypnotically beautiful. She had a mop of curly ebony hair, cut short but very pretty. 

God, wait no, I called her pretty. I called her beautiful. But that didn't mean I liked her. I was merely stating facts. Yeah, that's good, I thought, I was stating facts.

I stared at her more. 

There was a familiarity when looking at her. Where had I seen her before, I don't know. In my dreams? From my past? Maybe I hadn't seen her before. Maybe she's simply captivating. Whatever it was, she was a breath-taking enigma to me.

''Oh um sorry. You're Sherlo-''

''I know you know my name. My sister always warns my roommates before they move in. I understand if you don't like me.'' A pained smiled stretched across her rosy lips. ''Everyone thinks I'm a freak.''

I sat down on my bed. Oh. ''I know what not being accepted feels like too.'' I smiled, mirroring hers. My eyes drifted to the floor. ''Can I ask why people call you a freak?'' 

Wow, congrats Joan. So smooth. Way to go.

Sherlock nodded. ''I'll show you.'' She stared at me for a bit before she spoke again.

''Belgravia is a private, boarding school, typically meaning only rich students would attend. However, judging from your battered suitcase and your frayed, faded blue jumper you aren't exactly the richest. So how did you get in? A scholarship, it's the only possibility. But a scholarship in what exactly? A scholarship in science. 

''How do I know? Well, you hold yourself in a professional manner, the way you would see a business person would hold themselves. Not the same way a ballerina holds themselves though. They're two different stances. This tells me you are a smart, resourceful person which narrows down the choices of you having a sports scholarship. However, that doesn't mean you aren't athletic or athletes aren't smart. The fact you were holding science textbooks, ones for A Level students, tells me of your intellect. A science scholarship it is.''

I stared in utter disbelief, with my mouth slightly ajar. ''That... what was bloody brilliant. And accurate,'' I grinned.

Sherlock's cold facial expression softened and her mouth became agape. ''People don't normally say that.''

''What do they say then?''

Sherlock smiled, ''Piss off.''

''Well then, they're idiots. How could they? You're amazing.''

A blush crept onto her face and I felt the blood flow to my cheeks too. ''I wasn't even finished with deducing you,'' she muttered like a child.

''Well you haven't let me speak really,'' I smiled. I extended my arm. ''My name is Joan Watson.''

She took my hand and shook it firmly. ''It's nice to meet you.''


	4. 3

Sherlock

We were seated on my bed, as Joan and I took turns asking each other questions. Really, it was me dodging each question asked about me and reversing the question on her. Fifteen minutes within meeting each other, and normally my roommate and I would be ignoring each others' existences. However Joan was...different. She wasn't not quick to judge and she didn't insult me. I mean, here was she on my bed, prying for my walls to fall down. But that didn't mean caring gained you anything. God no, it made no difference.

I smiled at her, amused, as she asked about my excuse of a sister. She was so fucking stubborn.

''My sister and Grace are planning to take Law in uni. Either that, or criminology,'' I said.

''Grace? Don't you mean Greta?''

I furrowed my eyebrows and batted my eyelashes innocently. On the inside, however, I smirked. Of course I knew Greta's name. I've just always found it amusing calling my sibling's girlfriend by the incorrect name. Just a remind, if she hurts my sister, I will fucking kill her. 

''Sure. Whatever.''

Joan nodded her head while whispering ''mmh''. She was slouched against the headboard, fiddling with her skirt hem. Judging from her body language, she had completely dismissed the whole ''Greta-Grace-Whatever'' situation. My stare lingered then I eyed her cautiously; something was clearly disturbing her. 

She sat up, eyes gleaming. The disturbance was gone. ''Wait, so Mya Croft is dating Greta, right? Because they didn't seem very straight to me.''

''No they are straight and the Earth isn't round,'' My voice was cold as I rolled my eyes.

Sheer confusion swept over Joan's face. ''Wait, wh- oh wait. Ohh okay. Sorry, I knew it.'' Joan shook her head and laughed. Her eyes lit up and her soft, sandy hair flew behind her. 

''The two of them are as straight as a rainbow circle, and frankly I don't think that's very heterosexual,'' I smirked, ''They are besotted messes.''

Joan laughed, and I allowed myself to smile slightly, along with letting out a small chuckle. We fell silent and I sighed. She smiled, as I stared into her eyes. They were the colour of a turbulent sea, a storm of greys and blues. Conflict would ride upon the waves. A girl would be clinging for her dear life on a flimsy lifeboat. She would be thrown and tossed upon the waters.

Oh. 

At that instance, I knew what pain she was going through. Someone could be grinning and laughing, perfectly put together, but their eyes would give away the act. Their eyes would be pleading for help. That's what I saw in front of me. A beautiful porcelain cup, breaking over and over again. 

''Hey, Sherlock, you need to ask me a question.''

I blinked and realised I had zoned out.

''Oh yes, of course. Is it alright if I asked about your family?''

Joan's eyes went blank and her smile dropped. The waves swept her away, carrying her away.

''I'm sorry, this seems t-''

''No, no it's okay.'' She smiled at me reassuringly but there was no point. I could see right through the lies but sometimes it hurts to know the truth. I wanted to do something, say something but how could I if I've been playing the robot all this time? I didn't know the lines of the heart-warming hero or how they would behave. How could I change now? 

Wait, why would I want to change now? It was then when Joan started speaking.

''My parents are invalidated war veterans. My mum was a doctor and my dad was a soldier. They fought in Afghanistan and met each other on the battlefield. After they returned to England, they got married and had me. You could say I'm the mistake that started this chain of events.'' There was a strained chuckle and a pause. '' Two years later, my mum gave birth to my brother, Harry. It was fine for quite sometime. Until, the war decided to visit my dad in his dreams. He began drinking to drown out his thoughts. He lost his job. He refused to see a therapist. 

''My father would hurt my family. Fuck, he doesn't deserve being called dad. He abuses us again and again and again. But then he would apologise again and again and again. My mum falls for it. Every. Single. Time. Because one pathetic sorry resolves ten bruises. We've never reported him. If we did, our father would after us again. And I can't risk that for my family. I-''

Tears brimmed her eyes. The storm was too violent to be contained in her eyes. They had to find an escape. A tidal wave came crashing down.

''I'm sorry Sherlock. I shouldn't have. I-'' she choked. She tried to stop the tears but it was no use.

I placed my hand on her shoulder. ''No,'' I said firmly. She looked up at me, and choked back another massive tear. '' Don't be sorry. Just clean yourself up.''

Joan nodded weakly before walking to our en-suite. I was cold and harsh, like always.

I putted my head in my hands and sighed. What was this feeling? I had no clue but all I knew was it was complicated and messy and I hated it.


	5. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personally I don't like this chapter but maybe you will?

Joan

''Come on Joan, pull yourself together.''

I stared at my reflection in the mirror of our bathroom. I was a mess, with puffy lips and tear-stained clothes. I combed my hair, in an attempt of making myself appear more presentable but gave up almost immediately. I mean, at least my makeup was intact and I looked decent(ish).

''Congratulations, Watson, you've cried in front of your roommate within the fifteen minutes of knowing each other,'' I sighed.

I shut my eyes and breathed in and out slowly. If only I could go back to the park, back when I was seven, back to the girl with the daisy. If only time paused there. But it's so stupid. If only? I talked as if things could change but they can't. Dreaming is wonderful but it leads you to a false sense of security, if delved too far in. There's no point in dreaming and dreaming if you can't make a change. So why couldn't I stop? 

''Simple,'' I thought, ''It's a human flaw and I had embraced with open arms.''

''Just stop being so hard on yourself,'' I whispered to the girl in the mirror. She was helpless and broken but at that moment she was able to smile. Genuinely. 

I needed to stop being so hard on myself. I was going to enjoy Year Eleven. There was going to be no complications, no messy romances, just a few minor ups and downs, along with good times. 

I took a deep breath before opening the door.

What was Sherlock going to say? Or think? She didn't seem like a person who enjoyed expressing their emotions. Or hearing about them. What would I do if she were to silently judged?

When I stepped back inside, Sherlock was standing in the middle of our room, shrugging on a large trench coat. Oh. She was leaving. Leaving me and the mess I am. 

No. I was just being melodramatic, I reassured myself. There must have been a perfectly logical reason which didn't involve me. After all, Sherlock has a life. Well, I like to think so. I don't know. 

Sometimes I just don't think functionally.

''Where are you going?'' My voice was small, awkwardly trying to find something to do with my hands.

''You said you have a scholarship in science, am I correct?'' Sherlock wasn't looking at me. Instead, she rummaged through a drawer.

''Um well I didn't really say, you more deduce an-''

''Give me a goddamn, straight answer Watson,'' she snapped, frustratedly. '' You know what never mind I have the answer myself.'' My roommate withdrew a blue scarf and wrapped it around her neck. ''The school has established a trust with a nearby hospital, granting us access to their laboratories. You know that right?''

I nodded.

''Well... I need a partner.'' Her voice softened with each word, almost hesitantly. She stopped and froze into place, looking into me with those magnificent large eyes. There was something raw within the Sherlock that stood before me. Something deliciously human. Vulnerability. ''I thought, since you would also benefit from it, you could be mine?''

''Oh, um yes. That would me nice,'' I choked. The way she looked at me made me feel flustered. But why? A large smile stretched across her face, causing a fuzzy feeling inside of me.

''Perfect, you'll do just fine,'' Sherlock beamed, ''Now put on your coat, we have a cab to catch.''


End file.
